I flinched as he came toward me, murderous intent evident in his dark stormy eyes. I was unaware what I had done this time to provoke him, not that I was entirely sure what I had done to receive such beatings in the first place.
He picked me up by my collar, bringing me face to face with the letch who I had the displeasure of knowing as my father. I resisted wrinkling my nose at the rank odour of stale beer that laced his breath, knowing that that action would only serve the purpose of infuriating him further.
Unhappy with my lack of response, he threw me against the wall. I winced as my head bore the brunt of the collision. Something warm and sticky was travelling down the back of my head. I didn't need to check to know that it was blood, the bastard had probably given me a concussion, it's not like it would be the first time. He let go of my collar and I slid down the wall. He left me in the hall as he went into the kitchen. Is that it?
Of course it isn't, he'll never stop at such a minor injury. He came back; in his hand was a large shard of glass that he must have got from one of the beer bottles he had smashed earlier. In one swift movement, he tore of my shirt, using the shard as a cutting implement. I tried to back away knowing that my clothing wasn't the only thing he wanted to cut with that shard but my efforts were all in vain. He punched me in the stomach, making me double up and cough up a small amount of blood. Fuck, it hurt but there was no fucking way he was going to get any reaction out of me. I clenched my fists, trying not to cry out as he brought the shard down upon my already scarred chest. By the time he was done, my chest was bleeding profusely from the numerous cuts, but I didn't cry out once. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream.
"Fucking brat. Everything is your fault, remember that you worthless piece of trash." I heard him hiss at me, the words dripping in venom while he kicked me aside, before walking out of the door. Most likely going to go get drunk somewhere. At least this meant that I had some time on my own to treat my wounds.
After cleaning and bandaging my wounds as well as I could with my ever diminishing supply of first aid essentials, I only had enough energy left to crawl into my room and collapse upon my bed. As I closed my heavy eyes I saw his face leering down at me "Everything is your fault, remember that you worthless piece of trash." I felt a solitary tear make its journey from the corner of my eye down my face. 'Maybe he's right' I thought before sleep claimed me and brought with it terror filled nightmares.
I was early for school, as usual. Not that I'm some kind of teacher's pet or anything, I'll just take any excuse possible that means I spend as little time in the presence of my father as possible. However, today I was thinking perhaps it would be better to just skip school as well. I was well aware of the fact that I had several cuts and bruises on my face that would be hard to explain away, also my chest was causing me some problems and I just hoped that my wounds wouldn't reopen.
I went and sat at my desk, wincing as I lowered myself into my chair. Fuck, just that small movement caused a shock of pain to spread throughout my body. This is going to be one long day.